Outlaw
by SalaciousCrumb
Summary: Hetalia AU. Alfred is cheerful, self-assured and above all, dangerous. But even after a robbery, an affair and a murder, Arthur still longs to see him again. USUK, FrUK and Franada, one-shot.


**OUTLAW**

* * *

The locals hurried to clean up the last of the waste left by the previous week's festival, looking with urgency up at the dark clouds that had started to thicken menacingly across the town. They were on the precipice of autumn and that meant they would have to start harvesting crops ready for winter, working in the field was always worse in the blistering rain. The promise of hard work had made the majority feel less than hospitable towards any stragglers from the festival that had decided to stay for the remainder of the week. Though the gambling wheel had been shut down, the local cabaret wasn't going to turn down easy money. It was a good excuse for the barman to shift any unsold drink bought for the festival and gave the local authorities, who had been working to keep the peace all week, a night where they could relax into the anarchy, instead of trying to prevent it.

The cabaret itself was currently quiet, except for a light hum that came from the wall at the back room. The patrons ignored it, attributing it to the festival clean up, or the performers getting ready for the show.

Alfred tipped his hat as he walked through the door. He moved across the mirrored room, seemingly unaware of the gazes following him. It was unusual for a stranger to enter the town _after_ the festival; they hoped he wasn't a trouble maker, or worse, a sheriff from a neighboring town trying to break up their last day of fun.

"Set it up for everyone," He called with a smirk, signalling to the barman for a drink.

Satisfied he wasn't going to kill their amusement; the room gave a collective shrug and turned back to their conversations.

Gin in hand, Alfred walked up to a dark-haired stranger and asked him with a grin, "Could you kindly tell me friend, what time the show begins?"

"Around eight, I think."

Alfred nodded, pleased. Then he moved to a table in the corner, tipping his hat back down, so the shadow masked his face from sight. Then he waited.

Backstage, the performers were playing 'five card stud' by the stairs. Arthur smiled, he had two queens, one more and he was sure to win. Not that he would need the money after tonight, he could hear the place filling up and smiled at the gentle breeze that brushed across his cheek, open windows meant a full house.

Feeling like his luck was in; Arthur called another bet and drew up the jack of hearts. Arthur handed over his money with a shrug and examined the jewelry on his finger. There was always more where that came from, there was always Francis.

Francis Bonnefoy was no one's fool; he owned the town's only diamond mine. He made his usual entrance, with an expensive swirl of his coiffed hair and silk cape and seated himself at his usual table in front of the stage. His two body guards took their places beside him, smirking as the bar staff rushed over to be of service and the patrons stared, half admiration, half jealously. Loftily he ordered a bottle of expensive wine, tasting it and demanding it be disposed of immediately, before ordering another.

From his table at the back Alfred watched, laughing quietly to himself and thumbed the nozzle of the gun resting just beneath his shirt.

He seemed to be the only one who noticed Francis' long term partner, Mathew slip in through the side door a couple of minutes later. They had travelled separately as Francis liked to make an entrance and Mathew wasn't part of that. Especially not with _him_ performing tonight.

Straightening his back, Mathew walked over to the table. When Francis didn't greet him, Mathew fluttered his long eyelashes and whispered in his ear, "Sorry Francis, that I'm late."

But Francis didn't seem to hear.

He was staring into space, towards the back of the room. As their eyes met, Alfred raised his glass and winked.

'I know I've seen that face somewhere,' Francis thought to himself, 'Maybe down in Mexico or a picture up on somebody's shelf...or…'

Just as he was about to walk over and introduce himself to this familiar stranger, the crowd began to stamp their feet and the house lights dimmed ready for the start of the performance.

Francis tried to enjoy the show; after all, seeing Arthur perform was always a pleasure. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched, and not just by Mathew. He had long since learnt to ignore his partner's jealous stare. He turned to the back of the room, but the stranger seemed to be looking at the stage.

Nonetheless, an uncomfortable, nervous, pressure squeezed inside of Francis' stomach.

* * *

Arthur exited the stage, flushing with pleasure at the loud applause from the audience. He loved performing and he knew he was good at it. A life of doing what he'd had to do to survive had given him resilience and that certain flash every time he smiled. He took another peek out of the curtain as the lights went up and rolled his eyes. Arthur was no virgin; he'd had lots of strange affairs with men in every walk of life, but he'd never met anyone quite like _him._ 'Alfred Jones,' he thought, 'I wondered when we'd meet again'.

Amongst all the commotion, Ludwig, the hanging judge came in and Francis, with a wink, quickly found him a drink and a nice table.

The humming sound from earlier had been getting progressively louder, but with a couple of drinks in them, no one seemed to pay it any mind – especially now they had more interesting things to gossip about.

It was known all around that Arthur and Francis had been _intimate _(as he had with many other men and women), but for the blonde dancer to come on stage wearing Francis' _ring_, Francis paying that much attention to anyone was unheard of.

Francis leant back in his chair, enjoying the attention. He had big plans for Arthur and nothing came between him and his plans '…except maybe…,' He turned back to that table again, but the man that had been sat there was gone. The knot in his stomach intensified.

Next to him Mathew had started drinking hard. He stared at his reflection in the liquid feeling tired of the attention. He was tired of Francis, of scandals and fancies, of having to play the role of his doting partner. He'd done a lot of bad things for Francis, but in the end it had all been for nothing. Francis no longer loved him and he _hated_ himself. He felt like he deserved to die for some of the things he had allowed to happen and had even considered suicide. In the end he couldn't go through with it, not yet anyway, he wanted to do at least one good deed before he died.

As he gazed into the future, he felt something heavy fall onto his lap and looked over as a blonde man gave him a slight wave before walking through the door that headed backstage. Mathew frowned, he recognised that man as the one Francis had kept staring at during the performance. Mathew wondered why, the man wasn't really his type, and aside from that…Mathew couldn't shake the strange feeling that he recognised him from somewhere. As Francis called the stage manager over, to inform him that there was an 'intruder' backstage, Mathew suddenly remembered and his eyes widened.

_Alfred Jones._

Mathew reached down into his lap and picked up the gun.

Backstage Arthur removed his top and flung it across the chair, as Alfred fumbled with his own buttons.

"Why are you here, Alfred, has your luck run out?" Arthur laughed at him, as he finally rid himself of the last of his clothing.

"Well I guess you must have known it would someday," Alfred shrugged before, pulling Arthur towards him in a desperate kiss.

"Be careful not to touch the wall there's a brand new coat of paint," Arthur muttered, as Alfred pushed him down onto the bed.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur carefully put the last of his clothes back on and turned towards Alfred, who was adjusting his hat in the mirror.

"Well I'm glad to see you're still alive, anyway," Arthur said finally, and then with a careful smirk, "You're looking like a _saint_."

Alfred was about to give a cocky reply, but he was stopped by the sound of a knock at the dressing room door.

* * *

"It's locked." The backstage manager said, from the other side of the door as he jangled the door handle. "There's something funny going on around here," he said to himself, "I can just feel it in the air."

He went to fetch the hanging judge, but the hanging judge was drunk…and entangled with an Italian boy.

"Merde," Francis cursed as he was pulled away from his conversation with one of the leading actors. He got up from his chair and with Mathew in tow - stormed towards the dressing room.

It happened quickly.

Francis kicked the door open, but before he could say anything, a colt revolver clicked. As Francis fell, he studied Mathew's eyes. Despite the short scream of pain, Arthur later noticed, that he didn't really seemed surprised.

Mathew leant towards Alfred, who went to take the gun from his hand, but Mathew shook his head, only clutching it tighter.

Two doors down, Alfred's partner-in-crime Tony, had finally managed to drill through the wall, and had cleaned out the bank safe. His eyes gleamed in satisfaction as he grabbed his gun and ran out the back in victory. He'd made off with quite a haul.

In the darkness by the river bend, he waited on the ground. He knew Alfred still had business to take care of back in town. He reached into his pocket and took out one of the wanted posters he had stolen from around town the week before. Alfred might be a pain, but Tony knew he couldn't go any further without him.

* * *

The next day was hanging day. The sky was overcast and a curtain of rain released onto the town.

Francis lay beneath a sheet with a bible placed carefully over his bullet wound while on a stage not far from the funeral parlour, Mathew stood on the gallows. They say he didn't even blink as they opened the trap door. It was quick. Ludwig, now sober, had made sure of that.

Arthur looked down at his dark clothes. In the end he hadn't gone to the funeral. He had never really liked Francis who reminded him too much of his dad (not in a good way) and he didn't know what to think about Mathew, he guessed he felt sorry for him.

Of course Alfred Jones was nowhere to be seen.

Arthur realised he was the only one who seemed to notice his absence, 'and I'm sure that's just how he wanted it,' he thought with a small smile, promising himself that they would meet again someday.

* * *

**A LieutenantProbable oneshot.**

**Inspired by the Bob Dylan song - 'Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts.'**

**As always reviews are adored.**


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